


Better Than Being A Superhero

by windscryer



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Community: Suitsmeme, Gen, Nightmares, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-03
Updated: 2012-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-28 20:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windscryer/pseuds/windscryer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Late work has Mike sleeping on Harvey's couch. Then he has a nightmare and Harvey learns a great deal he never suspected hid behind that innocent façade.</p><p>**Warnings: non-explicit non-con, suicidal thoughts, kidnapping, violence**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phreakycat](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=phreakycat).



> **WARNINGS: non-con (not explicit), suicidal thoughts, kidnapping, violence**
> 
>  **  
>  Grab a flashlight, kiddies. This one is DARK.   
> **
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Ee-yup. Ne-ope.
> 
> Credit to GallowsHumor for the beta and the flailing. Anything that is still wrong is totally my fault because I can't help but tweak before posting. And to Lu for genre picking, flailing, and, once again, last line help. *sigh*
> 
> Written for a prompt by phreakycat on suits_meme on LJ (which I will put at the end of the story to keep from spoiling, as usual).

“Something about the bank accounts,” Mike said. He sounded tired, his words slurring just a little. “We need to figure out what's wrong with her bank accounts...”

Harvey looked over to see him digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, then roughly dragging his fingers back through his hair. It added a few more spikes to what had already been a pretty messy style from hours of the same and Harvey made the decision that it wasn't something Mike would be allowed to show in public, even if “public” only consisted of the lobby of Harvey's building and a cab that had certainly seen worse.

It was the principle of the thing.

And, well, the kid looked like he was a perfect candidate for either a mugging PSA or a zombie movie, but there wasn't enough exhaustion, alcohol, or blackmail material in the world to get Harvey to admit _that_ aloud. It sounded far too much like caring and, despite the fact that Mike kept having to frown at his pen and consciously readjust his grip on it, Harvey knew he wasn't so out of it that he'd miss the implication.

Either way, it was time for an executive decision and since Harvey was the executive here...

“And we will,” he said and began to gather up files and stack them neatly in preparation for being put into a briefcase or messenger bag. “Tomorrow.”

Mike's frown transferred from his pen to Harvey's hands and, after a pause more than long enough to confirm that this was the right course of action, he said, “What?”

Harvey set the last folder on top of the stack and tapped Mike on the cheek so his bloodshot gaze came up to meet Harvey's. “We're stopping for the night,” he said.

Mike blinked, squinted a little, then said, “What?” again, followed by a, “No, I can— I can do this. I can— Harvey—” Mike's hands went toward Harvey's shoulders and his fingers tried to clutch the fabric, but Harvey's reflexes were still functioning well enough and he intercepted them en route, firmly grasping Mike's wrists and holding him off with ease.

“Whoa there, Rookie. It's all right. We still have two days before we even have to meet with Leighton's counsel. We've got time,” he added, chuckling softly. Harvey knew he'd been a dedicated associate, but sometimes even he was amazed by Mike's devotion to the job.

“But...”

While Mike was distracted by the formidable task of assembling a coherent thought, Harvey stood up and then pushed the kid down so his head was on the armrest. Mike's feet were obviously in agreement with this plan, because they rose without any prodding or assistance and then most of Mike's muscles went lax and he slumped into the comfortable cradle of Harvey's couch.

Harvey actually got to the door of his room to fetch a blanket and pillow when Mike said, “But it's Monday!”

“Yes,” Harvey agreed. “And tomorrow is Tuesday and then comes Wednesday, and _Thursday_ —which is next in line—is when we meet with Leighton. We have time.” He tossed the pillow—which hit Mike in the face—and the blanket onto his associate and said, “Sleep now, think in the morning.”

“But I have to...” Mike mumbled, “something on Tuesday. Important.”

“And you will,” Harvey assured him, if only to get him to stop thinking and sleep.

Mike shut his eyes and sighed mightily and Harvey would be surprised if he'd been awake through the entire breath.

He snorted and crossed the room to actually spread the blanket out instead of leaving it a neatly folded square on Mike's knees and got the pillow under his head. He shook his head once more and headed for his bedroom, vowing to chew out Louis tomorrow for overworking his associate.


	2. Chapter 2

Harvey awoke to his heart racing and his lungs heaving and for a very disoriented moment he had no idea _why_.

And then he heard the bloodcurdling scream again and he was throwing back the covers and literally rolling off the mattress, reaching to grab the baseball bat he kept on the floor under his bed.

He burst out of his bedroom expecting an intruder who'd already made use of whatever weapon he'd brought or found, blood, and possibly a dead associate, but saw only his condo, a half moon's light illuminating the mess of paperwork spread over the floor from where Mike had knocked the stack of files over.

Mike who was still alive, but definitely not sleeping as deeply as he should have been.

Instead, he was stretched out on the couch, the blanket that had been neatly laid over him twisted around his writhing form, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he panted for air he couldn't seem to get. His face was flushed and his skin shone with sweat. His hands twitched from where they reached over his head and his feet gave little kicks. His expression was a rictus of horror. His back arched and his whole body jerked and then he gave this _whimper_ and Harvey didn't even remember moving.

He was just suddenly there, kneeling at the side of the couch, one hand setting the bat aside as the other came to rest on Mike's shoulder.

“No!” Mike all but yelped, like he didn't expect to be listened to, but he wanted his opinion known all the same, and Harvey yanked his hand back like he'd laid it on a hot stove. “No, stop!”

Harvey licked his lips and his eyes bounced up to his jacket where his phone was. Maybe he could call Donna and have her take care of this, because he didn't really want to—

“ _Please,_ ” Mike begged, head turning away from whoever was haunting him in his nightmare, pressing into the pillow until Harvey was worried he'd either smother himself or sprain something in his neck. “Please, don't—”

Harvey winced. The sound of Mike's voice was... _raw_ didn't seem to quite do it justice.

Then Mike's head whipped back suddenly until he was facing upright and his eyes flew open wide and Harvey felt relief wash through him, because if he was awake then—

Except he wasn't awake. He began gagging and choking, his mouth gaping wide and his Adam's apple bobbing furiously as he tried to swallow whatever he thought was in there. There wasn't anything, though. Harvey could see all the way to the back and it was clear of any obstructions.

The thought that maybe it was too far down to see occurred to him, but Harvey wasn't sure if sticking his fingers in there was a good idea right then.

Between the choking and the contained way his body thrashed, like someone was sitting on his chest, his hands clawing at the armrest but not doing anything more useful, made Harvey wonder if this was some sort of epileptic seizure. Which didn't actually help, because he had no idea what to do in that case either except call 911.

Actually, that wasn't a bad idea, given the circumstances.

He had just pushed off to stand when it all stopped. Mike went completely limp, eyes fluttering shut and head falling to the side, and Harvey's pulse spiked because, oh _fuck,_ had the kid just _died?_

Harvey bent again and pressed his fingers to Mike's carotid and had to take a few deep breaths to be able to say with fair certainty that it was, in fact, a pulse he felt and not his own trembling hands.

The fact that Mike rolled over and curled up into an inconceivably tiny ball after a moment supported that fact and Harvey sat back on his heels and scrubbed a hand over his face.

He let the hand fall to his thigh and blew out a breath. He still didn't know what to do.

This was obviously a nightmare, not a medical emergency—though it was one _helluva_ nightmare—but should he wake Mike up or not? He seemed... okay now, Harvey decided as he gave his associate a considering assessment.

The blanket had been rolled over into the ball leaving the kid's back exposed, his thoroughly wrinkled grey dress shirt lined with a dark stripe of sweat along his spine. Even as Harvey watched, he could see the tiny tremors that raced over the muscles under the cotton-poly blend.

Okay, he wasn't looking forward to what was sure to follow this action, but Mike was useless to him if he came out of a night's sleep even _more_ exhausted than he'd gone in. That was what he'd tell anyone who asked anyway.

Truth was, he couldn't in good conscience leave the kid to whatever dark corners his mind held, and with a memory as sharp as his, anything bad that had gone in was no doubt there to stay. From the last few minutes alone, that appeared to be some pretty bad shit.

“Mike,” Harvey said, hand starting to rise, then falling again when he recalled what had happened the last time he tried to touch the younger man. “ _Mike._ ”

Mike shuddered and curled into himself even more tightly. “No,” he muttered. “Go away.”

Harvey hesitated, though he'd been given a clear directive. He wasn't entirely sure Mike was awake, or that it was aimed at him.

“Mi—”

“Please... _don't_.”

Harvey put up his hands and stood, backing off. “Okay. Fine.”

He bent to pick up the bat and right then Mike rolled over, face scrunched. He blinked a few times, brows drawing down as he looked at Harvey, and then he was up and screaming, scrambling backwards, terror writ large on his face as he tried to escape the threat that wasn't really there.

Harvey made the mistake of reaching a hand out instinctively and got a foot to the gut for his trouble that had him pitching forward toward the couch, the hand with the bat swinging around to catch his weight.

It didn't make it, Mike reacting to that perceived threat as well and lashing out again. The bat was wrenched from Harvey's grasp and a moment later he gasped, eyes flying wide as it cracked down on his shoulders and drove him to his knees, the pain spreading across his back and neck like the blast wave of a nuclear bomb.

He grunted and forced his hands to push so that the next swing of the bat—accompanied by a war cry that actually was a little terrifying for its intensity if nothing else—only chilled his nose with the breeze of its wake.

Harvey fell back into the coffee table, pushing it aside with a screech of the feet over the wood floor and another flare of pain across his shoulders where he crashed into the sharp corner of the metal frame.

“Mike!” he shouted, raising a hand to ward off further blows.

Mike was too deep into his terror, though, and he again raised the bat over his head, screaming as he prepared to swing it down. Harvey barely had time to roll to the side, ending up on his hands and knees. The bat hit the ground with a crack that certainly woke his downstairs neighbors and his wide eyes stayed locked in disbelief on the divot now marring his floor.

If that had been his skull, he'd already be dead.

His eyes flicked up to see Mike kneeling on the couch, fury and fear etched into his face, tears welling up and overflowing. His arms trembled, his fingers bloodless where they wrapped around the handle of the bat, and his lungs heaved as he glared at Harvey.

“You stay the fuck away from me or I swear to fucking _God_ I will kill you, you son of a bitch.”

Harvey blinked. Before tonight he wouldn't have said Mike was capable of such vitriolic hatred, and yet...

Harvey moved slowly, putting his hands up in surrender as he shifted into a crouch. “Okay, Mike. I won't come near you. I promise.” He paused for a second and said, “If I give you my word, can you put the bat down?”

Mike snorted. “Your word? Your fucking _word?_ Like I'm going to trust that _now?_ ”

Harvey knew that Mike wasn't talking to _him,_ that he was obviously still stuck in his nightmare, however aware he appeared to be, but it still hurt to hear those words.

“Mike, let's just put down the bat and talk, okay? Let's just talk—”

Mike laughed, a harsh bitter noise that made something in Harvey curl up and die just a little because _that_ sound should not be coming from _this_ person.

“You want to talk? Fine. Let's talk.”

And then he swung the bat again.


	3. Chapter 3

Fortunately, Harvey had been anticipating something like that and he moved first, launching up from the floor and tackling Mike around the waist. The momentum required to get under the bat and into Mike before he could react was enough to have the whole couch tipping over with a loud crash.

Harvey's neighbors were definitely going to be lodging a complaint against him in the morning. Assuming they weren't already, that is.

Mike gave an “OOMPH!” as Harvey's greater weight crushed him momentarily, a hiss when his head cracked against the floor, and then a groan as the bat rolled from nerveless fingers.

Harvey took a half second to reach over and shove it even further out of reach, just in case, then looked down at Mike. “You with me now?” he asked.

Mike's eyes flew wide, though and he inhaled sharply. “No! Get off of me! Stop it!” He started bucking and twisting like a professional bronco and Harvey grabbed onto his shoulders and pressed down out of pure instinct.

“Mike!”

He had half a second to flinch as Mike's hands got their own holds on him and then the world spun as he was flipped over.

Mike reared back and landed one solid punch to Harvey's jaw making him see stars and hear bells for a few seconds and then the weight was gone.

Harvey didn't really want to get up at that point. Maybe if he just laid there and played harmlessly concussed, Mike would not kill him.

The sound of the front door locks being frantically disengaged nixed that plan and Harvey rolled over, spit blood so he didn't have to swallow it, cursed at the mess, and then lifted his head in time to see Mike yanking the door open and bolting outside.

“ _Shit!_ ” Harvey said and was off again, pushing from a runner's start up and across the room.

Harvey was grateful he was the only one on the floor so no neighbors would be poking their heads out of any doors and risking unintentional assault. He was also grateful that he ran three miles a day.

He put everything he had into sprinting after his associate and caught up just as Mike hit the door of the elevator—literally—and began stabbing at the button. Mike turned to see Harvey coming and his expression morphed into downright terrified as his hand moved ever faster. He turned and began banging on the door, as if the elevator would somehow hear his distress and increase its speed.

Harvey was actually glad Mike had turned away. For one thing, it made it easier to come up behind him and wrap one arm around his chest, pinning his arms in place, the other over his mouth so to muffle the screams and shouts for help.

That was probably one of the worst things he could do right now, he was pretty sure, but he really didn't want to have to deal with the cops if he absolutely didn't have to and there was an—admittedly slim—chance they hadn't been called yet.

Mike reacted about as Harvey expected, thrashing and writhing, legs kicking, arms jerking. His screams grew louder and more panicked and Harvey was afraid he was going to give himself a heart attack if he kept this up.

“Mike! Mike! _MIKE!_ ”

Mike's struggles trickled down to a few weak wriggling movements and his screams turned into whimpers and Harvey ignored the wash of guilt that ran through him.

He dropped his head onto Mike's shoulder, inhaled deeply, then lifted it again and said, “I'm not going to hurt you, okay? I'm going to let you go, but I need you to go back into my condo with me, all right?”

He released his grip slowly, ready to tighten it again if Mike reacted badly and tried to injure him again.

When he had enough leeway to do so, he carefully turned Mike around to face him.

His eyes searched the wide blue ones that looked back at him and he said, “Mike?”

Mike gulped and panted and his gaze flicked around, only briefly skipping across Harvey's, then suddenly he blinked and locked on and said, “Har-Harvey?”

It was weak and scared and Harvey never in his life wanted to hear it again, but it was also more cogent than anything else he'd said since Harvey left him to sleep last night.

Harvey breathed out a relieved huff and pulled the kid in for a hug.

Mike stiffened for a brief second, then he was clinging to him, the relief palpable in his voice as he said, “ _Harvey._ I thought—” He bit off the word with a squeak and tightened his grip.

He trembled under Harvey's hands and buried his face against Harvey's neck. Wet warmth a few moments later told Harvey the tears had overflowed. Mostly smothered sobs shook Mike's frame shortly after that.

“Shh, easy, kid. You're okay.” Harvey rubbed a hand up and down Mike's back. It was less awkward than he thought it would be and after a moment, Harvey realized why: He'd been here before, though it had been many years since and his brother's nightmares had never been quite _this_ bad, but some things you never forgot how to do.

“Hey,” he soothed, dropping a kiss onto the crown of Mike's head. He'd done it without thought and he immediately stiffened when he remembered this was his associate, but Mike didn't seem to notice, so he relaxed again.

Eventually, Mike squirmed and made a tiny noise of distress and Harvey pushed him back, though he didn't quite let go yet, his hands resting on Mike's shoulders. He gave the kid a quick scan and said, “You scared the shit out of me.”

Mike's gaze dropped, then made the rounds of the things that were not Harvey again and, eventually, he frowned. “Where...?”

“The hallway outside my condo.” Mike went rigid, then flushed a bright red. Harvey took pity on him and didn't say anything else but, “Now come back inside before someone calls the police, will you?”

It was one of the hardest things Harvey had ever done to turn and walk away like he wasn't afraid that Mike was still going to bolt on him. He heard the ding of the arriving elevator and had to clench his jaw to keep from turning around to see if Mike got on.

But the kid was on shaky ground already and obviously feeling some trust issues at the moment, so he'd let him have some room and hope that his faith wasn't misplaced.

He went to the kitchen, briefly considered Scotch, then went for coffee instead. They didn't need to add alcohol to the already volatile mix they had going.

He also considered ice for his jaw, but worked it once and decided against it. There would be a sunrise on his face by the time there was one in the sky and it would be a little stiff for a few days, but it wasn't _that_ bad. He'd had worse in the ring.

Running his tongue along the inside of his lip and cheeks said that the cuts had already stopped bleeding. He'd live.

Kid did pack a punch, though.

Outwardly, Harvey was calm and cool and collected—which was why Mike had no idea how relieved he was to hear the front door shut and then shuffling footsteps cross the floor to the kitchen.

Harvey turned around while he waited for the coffee to brew, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned back against the counter. He studied Mike in the silence as he tried to figure out how exactly this conversation needed to go.

Mike sat at the bar, back bowed, elbows propped up and hands supporting his head. His fingers were tunneled into the even more tangled mess of his hair as he stared down the marble countertop. Occasionally he sniffed or wiped at his face, but he never once even looked Harvey's direction. The lingering pink tint to his cheeks suggested why.

And yet he hadn't made excuses to go back to (fake) sleep or gathered his things and left, for real this time.

Even without his history of being willing to share more than was generally appropriate about his own life, Harvey would have understood that he wanted to talk about what had happened.

Except... He watched Mike's fingers clench and unclench and saw the way his shirt was stretched tightly over his tense shoulders and wondered for just a moment if that was true. Did Mike actually _want_ to talk about this or did he just feel obligated to do so?

Then Harvey decided it was irrelevant. They were going to talk about it either way.


	4. Chapter 4

The coffee finished and Harvey turned back to it, pouring two cups and preparing his own, then asking, “How do you want it?” He glanced over his shoulder to see Mike flinch then raise his head.

“Huh?” he asked, looking completely lost.

Harvey turned so Mike could see the mugs and waved a hand.

Mike surprised him with a small, crooked grin and a questioning, “Irish?”

Harvey bent a look on him and Mike laughed—not that horrible bitter sound of before, but still not right—and said, “Yeah, I thought so,” as he ran a hand through his hair. “Whatever's fine.”

Harvey thought for a moment, realized he had no idea how Mike normally took his coffee, decided that he'd before never needed to, but perhaps that should change, and fixed it like his own cup.

He brought them both over, but just nudged Mike's shoulder and said, “Come on.”

Mike frowned, but followed him to the overturned couch. Harvey set the mugs on the coffee table, then bent to get a grip on the sofa.

He looked up when Mike just stood there and said, “Can I get a hand here?”

Mike jumped and then bent and settled his own hands. On a three count they heaved and righted the furniture, then Harvey circled around and sat, picking up his mug. He sipped it nonchalantly, like he had all the time in the world, and waited for Mike to do the same.

Finally, he did.

They drank in silence for a few minutes, Harvey considering and Mike fidgeting.

“So,” Harvey said and Mike startled and spilled a little of the coffee on his lap.

“Shit!” he cursed and batted ineffectually at the wet spots.

Harvey arched an eyebrow and Mike's blush deepened. “Sorry.”

Harvey shrugged. “You didn't spill on me.”

“I...” Mike looked away. “Sorry.”

Harvey rolled his eyes. “Okay, for the next, say, half hour, let's put a moratorium on the apologies, okay? Unless you actually do or have done something worth apologizing for.”

Mike nodded quickly, but Harvey had a feeling it was more to please him than because Mike actually agreed with the request. “Okay.”

Harvey smothered a sigh and said, “So what was that?”

Mike's eyes stayed firmly on his mug, the thumb of one hand nervously stroking up and down the side. “Noth—“ He glanced up at Harvey, then away.

Harvey gave him a good five minutes to work up the courage to speak, but when it became clear that it wasn't helping, he said, “Okay, how about I ask you questions instead?”

Again the nervous glance, but Mike nodded and took a drink of his coffee.

“Was it something fictional—like something you read about or something you saw in a movie—or something that actually happened?”

Mike hesitated and Harvey was wondering if they'd have to go to just yes or no questions so Mike didn't have to actually speak, when he said, “S-something that actually happened.”

“To you?” Harvey clarified.

Mike nodded.

Okay. That was... not what Harvey had been hoping for, but at least he was getting answers.

“Did it happen recently?”

Mike shook his head.

“Since you've been working for me?”

Another shake.

Harvey had to steel himself before he could ask, “When you were a child?”

Mike didn't answer right away and the pit in Harvey's stomach began to grow.

Finally, “I was technically old enough to vote, but...” He shook his head.

Harvey hid the grimace behind his mug as he took a drink. There were days that even now he thought of Mike as a kid, three decades under his belt or not, and though he didn't quite know what had happened yet, he could imagine that it had been a significant contributing factor to making that transition from innocent youth to more cynical adulthood.

"Did you—" A knock at the door interrupted him and Harvey rolled his eyes. Perfect. Now he had to deal with the building security.

" _POLICE. WE'VE HAD A COMPLAINT FROM YOUR NEIGHBORS. PLEASE OPEN THE DOOR, MR. SPECTER._ "

Ah _hell_.

Mike was back to looking like a startled rabbit caught in the headlights and he moved to set aside his mug like Harvey, standing up and wiping his hands on his pants.

"I'll handle this," Harvey assured him. "Sit back down."

Mike did so warily as Harvey padded across the floor, verified it was indeed uniformed officers, then opened up. "Hi," he greeted with a smile. "Sorry about the noise. Little misunderstanding."

"Can we come in, Mr. Specter?" the older cop asked as the younger one made no secret of his trying to see past Harvey into the room.

"Of course," Harvey said genially, standing back and holding out an arm in invitation, like it was completely normal to have a little chat with the cops at three a.m.

The two entered, each with a hand near their belt just in case, and looked around. Both latched onto Mike for a long second, then continued their perusal.

"The Fitzgeralds below you called in a complaint of noise," the older one—a Sergeant Thompson by his insignia and name badge—said. "Said it sounded like a fight, possibly some furniture being moved with force?"

Harvey laughed, injecting just a little abashment into his tone as he ducked his head and rubbed at his neck, "Yeah, the, uh, couch was tipped over."

"I see," Thompson said. "And why was that?"

How to explain this without it either sounding like it was exactly what his neighbors feared, or exposing Mike’s secret? For once, his lightning-quick responses weren't up to speed, but then it had been kind of a balls-out-of-left-field night, hadn't it?

Unfortunately, nothing good came to mind.

"Look, Mike and I were just... wrestling and it got a bit out of hand." He hid the wince at how incredibly dumb that sounded and didn't blame Thompson at all for the arched brow.

"Wrestling," Thompson repeated. Mike must have agreed with him, because he groaned and buried his face in his hands. "I see. And do you normally engage in wrestling at two in the morning?"

"Harvey, just tell them," Mike said. "They're going to think it's a domestic dispute if you don't."

"It wasn't?" the other officer—Patrolman Bradshaw—asked.

"What?" Harvey said. "No!"

"No," Mike agreed more resignedly. He looked at Harvey and the message of, 'Just tell them so they'll go away' was crystal clear.

Harvey sent back one that said, 'Let me handle this.'

Mike, per far too common occurrence, ignored him. Instead he sighed heavily and admitted, "I had a... nightmare. Harvey came to wake me up, I freaked out because I wasn't quite awake yet and, yeah, we... wrestled a little bit. But really, it's all fine now."

Thompson must not have appreciated the look Harvey was giving Mike—which was a glare for not following directions, nothing more—and stepped forward so he was more firmly between them.

Oh for the love of—

"Son," he said, "did your partner hit you?"

“What?!” Harvey demanded.

" _What?_ " Mike said, the incredulity now his as he shot to his feet. “No! He's my boss, not my partner—”

"That's ridiculous!" Harvey protested. "I would never—"

"And anyway, I hit _him!_ " Mike said, which, really, wasn't helping their case any.

Harvey rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off an oncoming headache and said, " _Mike._ Stop talking."

"Hey now," Bradshaw said and stepped up. He kept his eyes on Harvey as he said, "Mike, you say whatever you need to say."

"There's nothing to say!" Mike said, throwing wide his arms and then dropping down to his seat again. He breathed out a prayer for patience, then said, "Look, I understand how this all looks and I don't blame you or the Fitzgeralds for coming to the wrong conclusions, but, really, nothing's going on. I had a nightmare, Harvey tried to help, I overreacted, some furniture got knocked over, and that's it. I’m not pressing charges and Harvey's not pressing charges—” Mike's gaze flicked his way and Harvey shook his head and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “—and so thank you for your concern, but we're all good here, now, and we won't keep you from doing, uh, the rest of your... you know, job."

Harvey would have facepalmed if he didn't have a strict policy against it.

And the kid wondered why he wasn't allowed to speak in any court besides housing. One day he would be a great orator under Harvey's tutelage.

One day in the distant, distant future.

Thompson gave the whole scene—from Mike's rumpled suit to the pillow and blanket on the floor, Harvey's much more casual state of dress and the shadow that was no doubt beginning to darken on his jaw—then said, doubtfully, "If you're sure..."

"Yes, I'm sure," Mike said. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "Really."

The two officers gave Harvey another scrutinizing look and he kept his expression blank of the quickly building frustration and annoyance and grinned instead.

He saw them to the door, shutting it behind them, then paused let his head drop to the smoothly painted surface for a moment as his hands re-engaged the locks. He blew out a slow breath and hoped that this little encounter hadn't completely shut Mike down, because the issue of what _had_ happened still needed to be addressed.

Not that he didn't wish that he could just walk away from this right now, but he didn't think that would be a good solution in the long term. Better to just have it out and be done with it.

He turned back to find Mike gone and he pushed off the door and moved forward in a hurry, eyes searching for any sign of where the kid had vanished to.

The sound of glass clinking and liquid pouring drew Harvey to the kitchen where he found Mike refilling his mug and topping it with a generous portion of Scotch.

"Sorry," he said and took a healthy gulp. He set the mug back down and replaced what he'd drunk with more Scotch. Harvey was fairly certain that it was more liquor than java now.

"I'm going to need this if you still want the story," Mike said. He drank more, but took it a little slower this time. "And if I want to sleep again tonight," he murmured. He glanced up at Harvey, then back down at the bottle as he fortified himself with another sip.

Harvey sighed and said, "Bring the bottle." He had a feeling Mike was right—and also that _he_ was going to need some help to hear the story, though he had doubts about either of them sleeping again.

Or, well, doing so before daylight. He just needed to remember to call Donna before he passed out or eight o’clock—whichever came first—to tell her to clear his schedule and that he and Mike would be working from home today.

They adjourned once more to the couch and Mike canted his head and tipped the bottle and Harvey lifted his mug and held it while Mike poured.

"That's good," he said, then leaned back into the corner of the couch. "Now tell me what happened."

Mike leaned back as well, running his hand through his hair. His gaze grew distant and Harvey waited as long as his considerably thinned patience could allow, then asked the question he'd been thinking of earlier but hadn't quite been ready to pose: "Was Trevor involved?"

Mike snorted. Then he said, "Very much so..." His eyes came up to meet Harvey's. "But not the way you're thinking."

Harvey arched a brow.

"Trevor..." Mike sipped his drink, then grimaced. "Trevor's not a perfect guy. He's not even a perfect friend. But when it really counted, when I needed him most... he was there."

Harvey's skepticism was poorly hidden and he didn't really care. Everything he'd seen spoke contrary to what Mike said and until he got more proof...

"Trevor told me not to take the job. It was a few months after I'd been expelled and he'd been trying to get me into taking tests—not just getting the answers and selling them, but sitting in on the actual test and pretending to be someone else, like what I was doing before I worked for you."

Harvey's head bobbed to the side. "Nice to know you _are_ capable of telling him no by yourself."

"Ah," Mike said, with a bittersweet smile, "but if I hadn't resisted for so long..."


	5. Chapter 5

His expression went blank and he took a few swallows before he softly admitted, "I thought my way was better. I... it still wasn't legal or right, but I was writing papers for people. I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't get a job anywhere that paid enough for me to live and Grammy to get the care she needed, and, well, it wasn't hard work. I just read up on the pertinent subject if I hadn't already, and then wrote out a paper commensurate with the writing skill of my employer. And, unlike Trevor's plan, it was pretty safe, relatively speaking. I didn't just copy papers I found online, I didn't sell a paper more than once... as long as I didn't overwrite the abilities of the person I was ghosting for, no one would ever know.

“And then this guy called me. I still don't know how he got my number. A friend of a friend of a friend or something..." Mike shook his head. "Anyway, he calls me up and says he'll pay me twice my normal fee if I go to his place and let him watch. He said he wanted to make sure I wasn't half-assing it and, well, it... it seemed reasonable to me at the time."

Mike flushed and looked up, probably sensing Harvey's disapproving frown.

"I know, okay? I realize now how stupid that is, but at the time..." He shrugged. "All I could think was that it was a lot of fucking money. I could have a nice little cushion instead of scraping by every month. So the guy was a little paranoid. He _was_ breaking some pretty serious rules."

Mike snorted. "I told Trevor about it and he said to forget that guy, that all of his paranoia wasn't worth it." His voice softened as he said, "One of the few times I can remember _really_ regretting not listening to Trevor."

And that regret, that sheer longing in Mike's voice, was what kept Harvey from saying what he was thinking right then—that if Trevor had been a _real_ friend, if he'd truly been concerned, he would have done more than just given advice. He would have done whatever it took to keep Mike from going to what had obviously been more than a paper-writing session with a controlling freak.

Though, Harvey could admit—if only in his head and grudgingly—that hindsight was 20/20 and it was entirely possible that Trevor had his own regrets about the situation. Maybe. Hopefully.

Mike's gaze unfocused again and Harvey just thought he was lost in thought until he saw the way Mike's hands trembled as they clutched at the mug they held. He swallowed convulsively a few times, then, his voice a much lower whisper, said, "It all started out fine. I went to his crappy little apartment off campus and he set me up at his computer and... I mean, okay, I thought it was a little weird how he didn't, like, just check on me every now and again. He pretty much hovered over my shoulder the entire time, offering commentary and making corrections. I... I was kind of wondering halfway through why the hell I was even there. I wasn't really writing anything, I was just transcribing.

“The first time he put his hand on my shoulder as he leaned in, I didn't think anything of it. It was annoying and I shrugged it off, but it didn't immediately, like, set off any alarms. When I reworded one of his sentences and he complimented me on it and rubbed my hair, I didn't really worry either. Again, annoying, but not alarming.”

He scrubbed his hand over his face and said, “ _God,_ Harvey, I didn't even really react to him massaging my shoulders during page twelve. Not... I mean... Not the way I probably should have. I just...” He barked out a laugh and rubbed a knuckle against his lower lip. “I was so immersed in writing that damn paper that I was completely oblivious to what was going on around me.”

Harvey knew that state of mind, had seen it before in the office—or something damn close to it—and wasn't sure if he was amazed or worried that even as traumatic an experience as this was shaping up to be hadn't trained that out of him.

But then he was beginning to see that there was much more to this kid than anyone could ever imagine.

He could also clearly read the guilt and shame for failing in some fundamental way still painting Mike after all this time. If the severity of the nightmare hadn't been enough of a clue, this right here was proof that Mike hadn't ever sought counseling for this and Harvey wondered if the crime had even been reported.

He'd have to worry about that later, though, because right now nothing in the world could compel him to interrupt. He didn't know if either of them could stomach having to start again.

“I did _eventually_ notice that something was off, but it was way too late at that point. He offered me a drink and I refused, he brought me food and I didn't touch it. By that point, I just wanted the thing done so I could leave.” He paused again and his head tilted. His voice was thoughtful when he said, “I think what really clued me into what was going on was when he said it was late and I should stop for the night and just crash there, that we could finish in the morning. It wasn't... Maybe by itself I wouldn't have thought anything of that either, but with everything else—mostly the way he found more and more reasons to touch me as I worked... Again, none of them a big deal separately, but taken all together...” Mike drained his mug and eyed the bottle on the table, but didn't go for a refill—yet.

“It was... Really, it was the look in his eye that finally set my alarms off. I told him that stopping was a good idea but that I couldn't stay. He said that he preferred that I either finished it or stayed over. He said he didn't want me to leave him hanging.

“I reminded him that he hadn't paid me yet so, yeah, I wasn't going to—even though I was so ready to just walk out and never come back. I was desperate, but I wasn't _that_ desperate.

“It was the surprise that I saw on his face for just a second when I reminded him I expected to be paid that clinched it. I stood up and said I was leaving and I'd be back in the morning. He...” Mike's shoulders hunched down. “He blocked the doorway to his office and said that I needed to sit my ass down and finish writing his damn paper or I wasn't getting anything.”

Mike laughed, that bitter sound again and Harvey had to wash down the foul taste on his tongue with a mouthful of Scotched coffee.

“I told him to go fuck himself and he looked me up and down and l-licked his lips and said— He said—” Mike pressed a hand to his mouth and it very nearly killed Harvey to wait him out.

Finally, eyes closed, cheeks red with shame, Mike whispered, “He said he'd rather fuck _me_ , thanks.”

Shit. _Shit._

Harvey had seen this ending coming, had watched with horror as each milemarker passed, but had still somehow hoped that he'd been wrong.

No doubt, Mike had felt the same when it had happened.

Harvey felt the urge to reach out and pull the kid into another hug—and the part of Harvey that was a Big Dog Lawyer and Mike's boss balked at that, but the part of him that was a big brother spoke louder—but he wasn't sure how Mike would take such a gesture right now. Even though it was Mike, one of the most tactilely invasive people Harvey knew—and that particular aspect of his personality made even LESS sense now—this particular circumstance was... different. Touch right now might be seen as another threat, not comfort, and Harvey really didn't want a second round of their wrestling match, or to further traumatize his associate.

Mike cleared his throat and continued speaking before Harvey resolved his dilemma and he put it aside in favor of listening.

“I told him I didn't swing that way—I tried to make it a joke, you know, leave him an out, but he just... He came _into_ the room and I sort of... panicked. I was babbling, I don't honestly know what the fuck I was saying, but I stood up and I turned to gather my things.” He pressed the heel of his hand against his eye socket, but not before Harvey saw the shine of tears. “I was such a fucking idiot,” he whispered.

The Big Brother part of Harvey then acted, as it had been known to do, without consulting his brain when confronted with certain circumstances.

“Mike.” He got no immediate response. “ _Mike._ ”

Mike moved his hand and stared warily at Harvey.

“C'mere, kiddo.” He spread his arms and waited.

Whether it was a desperate need to be touched in a good way to offset the memories, a desire for safety that he apparently found in Harvey, or the use of the nickname to imply that it really wasn't a sexual thing, Harvey didn't know, but Mike barely hesitated before he accepted the invitation and crossed the couch, nestling in at Harvey's side, his ear pressed to Harvey's sternum.

Harvey carefully closed his arms so as to not startle him, and squeezed gently.

“You're safe now,” he murmured and then shifted so he could rub Mike's back.

“This is...” Mike started. “I'm sor—”

“No apologies. Don't over-think this.” Harvey hesitated a second, then dared to joke, “And don't assume this means I care.”

Mike laughed and turned his face into Harvey's chest for a moment, his fingers finding fistfuls of Harvey's tee and latching on with a grip meant to stay. “Of course not,” he mumbled. “Definitely no caring going on here.”

Harvey smiled. “Good. So long as that's clear.”

They stayed like that for a long few minutes, Mike apparently listening to his heartbeat and Harvey wondering how to get the conversation going again—so much for not interrupting, he thought with a mental roll of his eyes—but he felt Mike gradually tense up again as a prelude to saying, “He hit me when I turned away. In the... the back of the head. I've often wondered if things would have turned out differently if he hadn't knocked me out then. I certainly would have been able to fight back, but... would it have even mattered? He was a big guy and...” He shrugged and blew out a weary breath. “I don't know. I guess it doesn't matter now, but... I still wonder.”

Harvey just kept up the steady rhythm of his hand on Mike's back since it seemed to help.

“At any rate, the last thing I saw was one of my textbooks I'd brought as reference. When I woke up again, I was staring at a poster of some model in a bikini taped to his ceiling. I was... confused. At first because I couldn't remember where the hell I was, but after he spoke and I remembered, it was because... it was a girl on his ceiling. I said something—I don't remember what exactly, but it must have been about the fact that I definitely was _not_ a girl and he— He said that he knew that. He'd been hoping to find a girl he could get to... uh... play the role?”

Harvey could hear the utter bafflement in Mike's tone and saw the way his face scrunched up and couldn't blame him. This guy had obviously been a few unbiased citizens short of a jury.

“But he hadn't and the paper was due soon and, he said—” Mike swallowed and his fingers tightened until Harvey was sure he was stretching the material and possibly going to leave a few holes. He said nothing, just continued listening.

“He said I was kind of girly looking anyway and I was close enough for his purposes. He'd— He'd always wanted to try a-anal sex.”

Mike turned his head to hide his face again as he choked on a sob and Harvey could feel the heat of his panting breaths warming his shirt as Mike sought control over his emotions.

Harvey squeezed him again, and murmured soft words of... He didn't even know what. Hopefully they were comforting or soothing or... something. At this point, he was so far out of his depth that not even his big brother experience could help him, but he was determined to stick it out and that determination had gotten him through a great many other things in his life. It wasn't going to give out on him now.

Apparently what he was doing was helping because despite the trembling and the shaky voice and the tears soaking Harvey's shirt, Mike continued.

“I couldn't... even then, I still couldn't believe it was actually happening. I tried to get away because... instinct, I guess, but I didn't quite... in my mind, I just couldn't believe this was _really_ happening. But he'd— God, he'd been so _prepared_. He'd planned this whole thing out to the very last fucking detail.” Mike snorted, a wet sound thanks to the tears. “Or, well, _this_ part of it at least."


	6. Chapter 6

“He'd ziptied me to his bed so I couldn't escape. I tried anyway and...”

He paused now and shifted so he could bring up one hand, wincing at the effort it took to uncurl his fingers from Harvey's shirt. The digits actually stayed curled inward even after he untangled them and they looked painfully taut, but Harvey only glanced at them a second before Mike said, “I still have scars, on my wrists,” and distracted him.

Harvey looked at Mike's face, and got a nod, though not eye contact, and then reached out to tug the cuff of Mike's sleeve down just a little. Harvey marveled at the fact that he'd never before noticed this, though, to be fair, he mostly saw Mike with long-sleeved shirts on and even when he did see his exposed forearms, it wasn't like he made it a point to stare at the kid's hands.

But still... How had he never seen that thickened line, slightly paler than the surrounding unblemished skin? It was widest and most obvious on the part of Mike's wrist just under the meat of his thumb and narrowed until it stopped just short of a full circle around his wrist on the opposite side.

Harvey could—unfortunately—imagine the black plastic cutting into the skin here as Mike futilely tugged and twisted, blood dripping obscenely from the ever more mangled wounds as he struggled.

“There was a point or two,” Mike confessed when Harvey let him go and he was able to hide the evidence once more by resecuring his hand in Harvey's shirt, “where I hoped that the blood loss would be enough to kill me.” It was quiet and full of shame for the weakness of the moment.

Harvey wasn't quite sure what to say, but he felt like he couldn't let that one go unacknowledged.

“You were in a... a rough place, kiddo,” he said, swallowing down his discomfort and telling himself that this wasn't about _him_ , it was about Mike and if this was what he needed, some kind of absolution, then, well, Harvey could damn well try to give it. “And there's nothing wrong with wanting a... a way out, with wanting to escape that terrible thing that...” He cursed silently and looked heavenward, wishing he believed in a God so he could ask for inspiration right now. He blinked at the blurry view of his ceiling and uttered another mental curse.

With no further words to offer that didn't feel like they were an insult to what he was trying to convey, he gave up and just tightened his grip. He brought his chin down so that Mike's head was tucked underneath his, the way he'd done for a weeping little brother terrified of the monsters in the closet so many years ago.

Mike broke down once more, too exhausted and wrung out for it to be dramatic, just softly crying as he clutched at Harvey, face hidden to conceal his shame.

Harvey, for his part, just held on, wishing, not for the first time, that he had the ability to change the past—though it was, for the first time, not for his own benefit that he desired this power.

He brought one hand up and stroked the back of Mike's head, then shifted his hand down to Mike's neck, thumb rubbing over the short hairs at his nape as he cradled the kid close and tried to convey through his actions that he wasn't ashamed of Mike, that he didn't feel any less respect for him because of what he'd survived.

Eventually Mike slowed down to a few intermittent sniffles and the occasional fresh tear and he said, “I don't remember everything... I mean, I... I think I blacked out again once or twice. I just... It hurt. I know that much. It hurt a _lot_. He wasn't... gentle. At all. I might as well have been a... a blow up doll for all he cared. I didn't even know he was done until he was dressed again. It's like I blinked and every time I opened my eyes there was some new horrible thing happening and then... he was sitting there. On the edge of his bed. Staring at me.” Mike shivered.

“I could hardly move at that point. Between the shock and the p-pain, I just...” He sniffed. “Or maybe I just didn't care to move. I don't know. I just remember opening my eyes and seeing him staring at me with this... _blank_ look on his face. Like I wasn't even... like I was a _thing_. That's... Apparently that's where his plan fell apart, because he'd been hoping for a willing partner, but he'd prepared for an unwilling one... He just hadn't figured out what he'd do after that. With... with me.

“He tried to kill me once. Wrapped his hands around my throat and squeezed. I didn't fight him at first, I just... Well, anyway, instinct kicked in at some point and I did begin to struggle. He had to climb on top of me to keep me from breaking free but... I don't know if he really couldn't physically do it or if he just pussied out, but either way he didn't finish. I'd stopped fighting by then due to sheer oxygen deprivation, but I wasn't totally out of it. He climbed off of me, left, and then came back a while later and fucked me again. I don't... I don't even know what was going through his head half the time. More than half the time.”

Well that explained what Harvey had witnessed before. Fuck. The kid was still _literally_ reliving it in his nightmares.

Harvey spat all kinds of dark things inside the confines of his own head, things he'd like to say—or do—to the asshole who'd done this to Mike, but outwardly he said nothing. He just hugged Mike again and felt utterly useless, because surely there was something more he could be doing. He just had to figure out what it was.

Finally, in the oppressive silence that followed, Harvey said, “Well, he must have decided to let you go. Or you escaped.”

Mike laughed bitterly again, and made a sound like a buzzer on a game show. “Wrong! Try door number three!”

Harvey frowned, then got it. “You were rescued?”

Mike nodded. “But not right away. He kept me for three days. Fucked me a couple more times, made me give him a blow job once until I tried to bite his dick off. Then he beat the shit out of me and I... I really thought I was going to die. I'd sort of hoped... I mean, he wasn't exactly all there, right? I knew he wouldn't react well to... me fighting back. I just didn't know how to provoke him until he practically gift-wrapped that opportunity for me. Everything else I did he either liked or he didn't care. That though... it pushed him over the edge and he just... he let me have it. And, yeah, that hurt, too, but if it got me out of there... even if it wasn't alive... I didn't care. I really didn't... I just wanted it to stop.”

Mike's voice cracked and Harvey was afraid he was going to stop and maybe not start again, but he just swallowed a few times and said, “That was on day two. I think. Time is sort of fuzzy, especially sequences of events, but I think it was the second day. Or night. It was dark out. His bed was next to his window and he had it covered with blackout drapes, but there were little bits—just tiny cracks, really—where enough light came through that I could tell if it was night or day. I'm only certain it was three days because that's what Trevor told me after he— after he found me.”

“How did he know?” Harvey asked, because, really, this was a side of the other man that Harvey was struggling to meld with what he knew from experience and anecdotal evidence as relayed by Mike—and his grandmother, not that Mike knew Harvey had talked with her. Though if she'd known about this, even in the vaguest way, it did explain why she hadn't done as Harvey had and convinced Mike to give up the friendship years ago.

Not that Harvey regretted his actions in that regard. Overall, Trevor was still a grade-A douchebag and an anchor that was dragging Mike down, this one contrary piece of evidence notwithstanding.

“Well, he knew I was going. And when I didn't show up that night, he said he was worried, that he suspected something had gone wrong, but it took him three days to figure out who it was and where he lived.” Mike's lips curved slightly and he said, “Every other time since then he made me give him an address and a name and phone number, even if it was just a meeting to pick up or drop off an ID and collect my payment. Half the time he went with me—all the time at first, once I finally healed enough and got up the courage to try something like that again. Though never papers again. Not even over the Internet.” He shivered.

Harvey frowned. “That brings up another question: How the hell did you not die from your injuries? Or at least end up with worse scars?”

“How else? Hospital. I didn't want to go, but after Trevor busted the door in—”

“Wait, he _actually_ broke the guy's door?” Harvey wasn't sure if he was more or less impressed by that.

“Well, not literally. He had to be sure, you know? So he knocked on the front door, asked if the guy had seen me since the night I was supposed to be there, and then punched him when he said he had no idea who Trevor was talking about. They fought and— I could hear them, but I didn't know it was Trevor. I couldn't hear his voice well enough and I was sort of out of it at that point anyway. Trevor said he kicked the guy's ass, demanded to know where I was, then kicked it some more until he pointed to the bedroom door.

“All I remember is laying there in the dark, hearing something going on in the front room, praying for death, and then the door opening and seeing two guys there. Trevor had his hand on the guy's neck and I couldn't see that it wasn't a friendly hold, plus it was too dark for me to see Trevor's face yet, and I didn't expect anyone to come for me after three days anyway, so I thought maybe he'd invited a friend over to... I don't know. Either take a turn or help kill me and dump the body.”

And with those words, Harvey now had a mental image of Mike's beaten, broken body being dumped in a shallow grave in the woods somewhere and he couldn't contain his own shudder.

That seemed to clue Mike into the fact that Harvey, was, in fact, hearing this and maybe he didn't want to and he started to push away.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'll stop. I—” He wouldn't look Harvey in the eye and he was even more shaky and... _fragile_ looking, but Harvey just wrapped his arms more firmly around the kid and tugged him back down, refusing to let go when Mike squirmed.

“What did I say about apologizing?” he said gruffly.

“But—”

“Just keep talking.”

Mike hesitated and Harvey was about to speak again when Mike said, “You really don't... I mean... I'm okay now and—”

“ _Mike._ ” He sincerely hoped that Mike's ability to read into Harvey's words was working right now because he wasn't sure he could actually ask for the rest of the story any more explicitly than that. Mike _was_ right in that Harvey didn't actually want to hear this, but... Mike needed him to hear it, so, yeah, he would man up and listen.

Still, he didn't expect what came next.

“Thank you.”

It was so soft he almost thought he imagined it, but he craned his neck until he could see Mike's face. Mike was looking up at him after a moment and smiling uncertainly.

“You're welcome,” he said, then put a hand on top of Mike's head and began carding his fingers through the kid's hair just to keep him from seeing his own unguarded expression. Mike shifted so he was more comfortable and Harvey rested his chin on the back of his own hand, still working his fingers as much as he could from this angle.


	7. Chapter 7

It seemed to be easier after that, probably because the worst of it was over and this was the happy ending portion. Or, well, the _ending_ portion anyway.

“Trevor pushed the guy into the room and down to his knees and then punched him in the back of the head—like the guy had done to me, though Trevor didn't know that at the time. He just wanted to make sure there wouldn't be any escaping. He... he cut me free and I... I freaked out, kind of like I did with you tonight, only, uh, a lot less effectively after three days of being r— ra—“ Mike swallowed audibly. “Ab-abused and— and not eating anything—”

“He didn't feed you?” It shouldn't surprise him, given everything else, but somehow, it did.

Mike shook his head. “No. I only got enough water to barely keep me alive when I... when I begged for it. In those moments when I actually didn't want to die. What he wanted me to do for food...” He shook his head. “I wasn't that desperate.”

The unspoken “ _yet_ ” hung heavy in the air and Harvey's grip tightened until Mike wriggled a little and said, “Harvey? Harvey, you're hurting—” He gasped.

It was the tone as much as the words that caused Harvey's arms to loosen, retracting until he wasn't even touching Mike, wasn't boxing him in at all. He didn't want—he couldn't _stand_ —the thought of Mike fearing him now, of not being able to trust him.

“Sorry,” he said, apologizing for the first time tonight, his voice as shaky as Mike's when he'd first woken up. “I'm—” He blew out a breath and averted his gaze. “I'm sorry.”

Mike pushed up for a second, looking like he wanted to retreat further, but was simultaneously determined to stay, then, very deliberately, he laid back down. After a moment, he reached back and tugged on Harvey's arm until it came around him once more. He held it in place until Harvey relaxed again and said, “Trevor may have been more freaked out than I was, but I couldn't tell. He was as calm and cool as I've ever seen him—before or since then. He got me to look at him, held my face steady until I could see it was him, and just repeated over and over that I was safe and that he was going to get me out of there. He didn't even... When I broke down and just started... _bawling_ , he didn't even blink. He just sat there with me until I calmed down again and then he went to go find a knife and came back to cut me free.

"He tried to let me walk, but I couldn't, so he basically carried me out to the couch. I wanted to leave, but he said he had to take care of something first and I wasn't really in a position to stop him so I sat there and stared at the wall and wondered if I had actually died and this was, I don't know, some fucked up version of the tunnel to heaven or whatever.

“He came back eventually, some of the guy's clothes in his hands because, well, I had no idea what had happened to mine. I hadn't seen them since before I'd been tied up. He dressed me and then he carried me out to his car and we drove away. I said I didn't want to go to the hospital, he said he didn't give a shit what I wanted.”

Mike laughed, and it wasn't as bad as before, but it wasn't quite right either.

“I was so exhausted and— and traumatized that I didn't even realize how that sounded until he freaked out and pulled off the road and started apologizing like crazy. Honestly? I didn't care. I mean, I get what he was worried about, but... he was _Trevor_ , my best friend since forever and he'd saved my life. And? I was too tired and in pain to argue. So even though I said I didn't want to go—and I did mean it—if he wanted to take me, I wasn't really going to fight him on it. I trusted him more than I trusted myself at that moment.”

Damn. Harvey was finding it really hard to hold onto his hatred of Trevor right now. He still thought the guy was a mostly lousy friend, but... obviously he wasn't a complete waste of oxygen. Shit.

“So he took you to the hospital,” Harvey said, when Mike didn't go on.

Hmm? Oh, yeah. He told them... some of the truth? Not... not enough for them to go after the guy, and he refused to let the cops talk to me because that I _was_ insistent on. I wasn't going to press charges. I didn't want to have to go through it all with them—or anyone, really—over and over again and I wasn't sure they'd actually _believe_ me anyway. Plus I had been there to help the guy cheat so...” He sounded sort of sheepishly guilty when he added, “And I had a feeling Trevor had already taken care of the problem anyway and I didn't want him to get into trouble if they connected the two.”

He winced and the expression on his face said he was afraid Harvey was going to be disappointed in him for this choice.

As much as Harvey felt like he should be, that he should want to see justice done... He also didn't want Mike to have had to suffer any more and, well, there was a small part of him that said that the kind of justice that could be found outside of a courtroom could be more satisfying in cases like this.

If that made him a bad lawyer or a reprehensible human being... so be it.

"What was the final tally of injuries?"

"Ah..." Mike hemmed, then said, "I don't really remember. I was sort of out of it because of the drugs for quite some time so... Trevor would know better."

Yeah, that was bullshit. You didn't go through something like that and not know what happened. Especially when a glance at your own medical record would indelibly scribe it into your memory.

But it had all healed eventually, obviously, and knowing each and every last thing that had been done to Mike wouldn't actually make either of them feel better, so Harvey didn't call him on it.

"Trevor worked out some way to pay for it and I suffered through weeks of therapy and treatments and all kinds of fun things like that and then... I put it behind me."

Harvey did call that one.

"I... look... Okay, yeah I have a nightmare every now and again. But mostly I just don't think about it and it's... not really a problem. I fill my brain with other things. That's... that's why I read so much. Part of it anyway."

"And smoke pot?" Harvey said, but it wasn't accusatory.

Mike sat up and Harvey let him since he seemed to be a lot better now.

He stood and paced and ran a hand through his hair. "Not... not at first. I didn't want to be... _that guy_ who was... assaulted and then just couldn't handle it and basically finished what his attacker started and slowly killed himself with drugs. But some nights..." He shrugged. "Yeah, some nights it was too hard to sleep and reading wasn't helping and..."

He glanced at Harvey, again expecting disappointment, but Harvey refused to be predictable. And, well, when he put it like that...

"Look," Harvey said, "I'm not saying that there weren't—aren't—better ways to deal with this kind of thing but..." He shook his head. "I wasn't there. It wasn't my choice to make. And I'm not going to condemn you for wanting to find a way to make it..." He waved a hand. "...stop. I think it would be beneficial to you to seek counseling—" He held up that same hand when Mike turned on his heel and started to shake his head quickly, hands coming up as he backed away. "I won't make you, okay? It's your choice. I respect that. I'm just saying that it might not be as— I mean, it might help... It's something to think about, okay? And the firm will pay for it and no one has to know why you're going."

He already knew from the stubborn frown on Mike's face that he wasn't going to be so easily convinced, but, well, Harvey wasn't in any rush. This hadn't killed Mike yet—hell, Harvey hadn't even suspected anything until tonight—so waiting a little longer for him to be mentally prepared wasn't going to hurt either.

"I don't want to rush you on this either," Harvey said after a few minutes to let Mike digest that and maybe say anything else on his mind, "but... do you want to try sleeping again?"

Naked fear flashed across Mike's face, only there for a second, but forever captured in Harvey's memories. He almost retracted the question based on that alone, but the kid was exhausted. He'd been tired before he'd gone to sleep, he hadn't really gotten anything there, and since then had been an even more draining discussion of his past. He was going to sleep again soon, the only question was if it was voluntary or if he just crashed.

"I..." Mike said, then turned away and paced a few steps to the window. Harvey wondered if he was really seeing the view.

"What?" Harvey asked.

Mike didn't answer right away and that had Harvey's curiosity piqued.

The kid had just shared some very personal information about a traumatic event. What could there possibly be to hold back on now?

Mike blew out a breath and scratched at the back of his neck. "Whenever I've had these nightmares in the past, I've always called..."

"Trevor," Harvey filled in when Mike didn't go on.

Mike turned and his voice was almost pleading when he said, "Look, I know he's kind of a shit friend, okay?"

Harvey was pretty sure they'd already had this discussion, but he didn't interrupt.

"I'm not a complete idiot. But he... he was there for me when... when I needed him most. He tried to stop me and when I ignored him, he... he came and pulled my ass out of the fire anyway." Mike quirked a small smile. "Sound familiar?"

Harvey snorted. "Well it _is_ nice to know that I'm not the only one you ignore," he said dryly, "though I can't honestly say I'm pleased to share that distinction with Trevor Evans of all people."

Mike's grin widened, then softened. "Anyway, even before I got out of the hospital and then I was on my own again and... pretty much since then, actually, any time I've had one of these... episodes... I've called Trevor. And he'd drop whatever the hell he was doing—or whoever, in some cases—and he'd rush over and sit with me and just.. be there... you know? He was the only one that knew everything about me, from my best to my worst, and he didn't..." Mike looked away, crossing his arms over his chest. "He never once judged me for it.

"I could cry on his shoulder like a little girl," Mike said sardonically, "and he never batted an eye. He just said that whatever I needed, he was there for me." He shrugged and look down at his feet. "He'd even, um... stay with me until I fell asleep again. Or, well, until... uh, until the next morning usually."

Harvey considered for a moment, then opened his arms again.

He didn't miss the hopeful look that crossed Mike's face before it was pushed aside and hidden again. "I don't want to—"

"Mike? Shut up and get over here. And bring the blanket."

Mike smiled again, that small, grateful curve of his lips, and bent to grab the blanket. He paused though and grimaced. "Can I..." He gestured over his shoulder in the direction of the bathroom. "I'm just... um..." He waved a hand at himself and made another face.

Harvey chuckled and put his arms down. "Go. Do whatever you need to do."

"Thanks," Mike said with ducked head, then hurried away. He got halfway there, turned around, came back and tossed the blanket at Harvey, then jogged back and disappeared behind the door.

Harvey took the time to let his mask drop for a second, wiped a hand over his face, and then blew out a weary breath.

He let his head fall back to stare at the ceiling, then checked his watch. Still way too early to call, but he didn't want to forget or accidentally fall asleep—plus he anticipated being pinned to the couch by a hopefully sleeping associate—so he got up now and retrieved his phone.

He sent Donna an e-mail explaining that he and Mike would not be in today, told her to have fun breaking the news to Louis, and promised her an explanation when next he saw her.

Not a complete one, mind you, that was for her to find out on her own (more likely) or Mike to tell her (less likely, but still possible).

He also told her that he'd sign into Skype in the afternoon so she could check in on them. That should appease her enough to keep her from coming over at nine a.m. with all kinds of junk food for breakfast and coffee and subtle inquisitive looks.

Not that he would mind her doing so, he just didn't want it to be so early.

He left his phone on the table, retrieved the pillow, and got comfortable.

Then he got up, went to his bedroom, dug out something besides three-quarters a suit for Mike to wear, knocked on the door and delivered the clothes, accepted Mike's blushing thanks, and returned to the couch again.

Eventually Mike came out, hair wet and face scrubbed, though Harvey hadn't heard the shower run, so it must have been a sink bath. Along with, probably, a lecture on why he shouldn't have fallen apart all over his boss, given the way he kept sneaking glances at Harvey like he was trying to get up the courage to speak, but there was also a tinge of apology to the look. Harvey nipped the impending assurance that he was fine and that, really, Harvey could go back to his own bed, in the bud and again opened his arms wide.

Mike bit his lip, flushed a brighter red and said, "Harvey—"

"Shut up and lay down."

Mike didn't question it further, just got comfortable on his side, head pillowed on Harvey's thigh, and pulled the blanket up to his chin.

Harvey knew what discs were in the multi-disc changer for his Blu-ray, so he turned on the TV, activated the player, and selected disc number twenty-three.

"I thought we were sleeping," Mike said as the opening sequence for the seventh disc of the original Star Trek series began playing.

"You're sleeping," Harvey said. "I'm going to watch one of the best episodes ever aired."

" _The Trouble With Tribbles?_ Wasn't that in season two?"

Harvey shot him a look. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that," he said and selected _The City on the Edge of Forever._

Mike watched the first few seconds, then said, "This is the sad one."

"It's not sad, it's—"

"It's sad, Harvey," Mike said, but he left it at that.

"You're supposed to be sleeping. Shush."

They actually made it through that episode and several more—yes, including _The Trouble With Tribbles_ —before Harvey was sure Mike was asleep.

It was actually Mike tensing up and making a soft sound that clued him in. Harvey scowled, but a hand on Mike's head, thumb stroking over his scalp, seemed to work well enough to calm him again, the lines in his face smoothing once more. A soft sigh and Mike fell deeply under again.


	8. Chapter 8

It wasn't that Harvey wasn't exhausted.

He'd been quite happy to fall into bed at nearly one a.m. the first time, reluctant to stay conscious once the immediate danger was over, and more than ready to sleep again by the time Mike's story was finished. And he might have slept once Mike was down for the count once more—had been planning on it, actually—but it never lasted.

Every time he'd think Mike was gone for good until morning and stopped the disc of whatever he was watching then from playing, closed his eyes and gratefully let his mind wander... He'd be awake a moment later as Mike twitched or whimpered, or cried out, twisting and jerking to escape the memories his mind just would not let go of tonight.

It didn't take much to calm him again, a touch of Harvey's hand, a soft murmur that he was safe, that it was over, that Harvey was still here and no one could get to Mike now, and the kid would still. Sometimes he cried without waking up, without moving or making a sound, and it was easier to stay awake then because Harvey's own mind would fill in horribly vivid blanks based on what Mike had told him happened.

Harvey deliberately shunted those aside as they rose up. He didn't need to have any nightmares of his own when this night was over with.

Once Harvey had almost fallen asleep without even being aware of it until Mike woke him up again by crawling up and latching on, wrapping his arms around Harvey's waist and squeezing until Harvey began to worry about internal damage.

He'd pried the kid off, eventually, and gotten him resettled at his side, an arm curled around Mike's shoulders as he huddled there, shivering and shaking, teeth chattering, wide eyes locked on the shadows outside the pool of light created by the TV. Harvey would have turned on more lights, but Mike wouldn't let him go long enough for him to do that, so they stayed and watched more Star Trek and waited out the spell until exhaustion dragged Mike under once more.

Mike wouldn't explain what he'd dreamed of and pushing too much had only distressed him further, so Harvey had let it go for now.

Harvey didn't truly mind the lost sleep—not with an entire day to make it up ahead of him—but he was still grateful to see the dawn start to lighten the sky and then the sun following a short time later.

Mike had no further problems, slipping into an ever deeper sleep until Harvey had to lean forward a bit to see if his chest was still rising and falling.

It was and Harvey was just so _tired,_ so he laid back against the cushions and let his eyes fall shut, hoping that, this time, it would last.

o.o

"No, we didn't— _Donna!_ "

"Oh come on, Mike, you can admit it. I won't tell a soul."

Harvey's brow furrowed even though he wasn't entirely awake. He didn't know if he was actually hearing this or if it was some bizarre audio-only dream.

"Now you're being creepy. We worked late and then Harvey said I should stay over because I was too tired to get home safely and we fell asleep. That's it.”

“That's it? You didn't even watch a single movie?”

Mike groaned and then said, “ _No!_ I mean... we— Harvey did but... it was Star Trek and... It wasn't a sleepover, okay? There were no pillow fights, no hair braiding, no makeovers, nothing but work and... and sleep."

Donna chuckled and finally let him off the hook.

"I know. Your hair's too short for braiding for one thing. Now Harvey's and a curling iron...” She made a considering sound. “There are possibilities there. Not many, and I doubt he'd trust someone as inexperienced as you that close to his scalp with a hot iron. Still, you both have finger- and toenails..."

Just in case this was reality—and he was pretty sure it was—Harvey made a mental note to never fall asleep around Donna. _Ever._

He heard Mike sigh and grumble—probably because Donna was smirking at him—but it was without real heat. Footsteps crossed the floor, then a door shut shortly thereafter, followed by the shower turning on.

Harvey felt a knee nudge his foot that was hanging over the edge of the couch and he allowed himself to be pulled more fully into the realm of consciousness, though not without protest in the form of a groan.

He blinked and frowned at Donna bending over to set a steaming mug and a plate of food on the table.

"Morning, sunshine!" she greeted, smiling with obscene cheer.

"What are you..." Harvey looked around, then pushed himself up to a more upright seat from the spine-crunching slouch he'd been in. His shoulders and everything in between hurt like a bitch from Mike's home run swing and he was not joyfully anticipating any and all movement between now and a good hot shower, but he started twisting, stretching, and working the muscles anyway because the more intense pain now would translate into a shorter duration overall. He also tested his jaw and, yeah, it hurt, but it was usable. A few other spots hurt, but those were the worst. Overall, he'd live.

Donna sipped from her own mug and watched him.

"Did Mike call you?" he asked as he reached forward to get his brain-starter.

"No, you sent me an e-mail. I'm sure you meant for it to placate me and keep me at the office but, well, without you there, I don't have much to do. So I cleared your schedule and picked up breakfast and now I'm here." She grinned widely.

Harvey wiped a hand over his face, took a long drink of absolutely _divine_ coffee, and said, "I wasn't trying to placate you."

She reached forward and patted his knee. "You were, but it was cute, so I'll forgive it."

Harvey sighed and said, "Donna, not that I don't appreciate the food and the coffee—I _really_ appreciate the coffee, by the way—but I'm not sure that Mike—"

"Mike is doing just fine," Donna said. Then bobbed her head to the side and clarified, "Well, he's doing as fine as can be expected under the circumstances, but mostly at the moment he's embarrassed that you had to witness that last night.”

Harvey eyed her speculatively. "You knew?"

"Knew what?" she said innocently and... He actually wasn't sure if it was real or not. Damn her.

"About Mike?" he pressed.

She grinned. "Oh I know lots of things about Mike. Like the fact that he has a mole on his—"

"Donna!" Harvey held up a hand to stop her. Just because he knew the kid's darkest secret didn't mean he needed to know _all_ of them.

She took another sip, her expression the picture of demure innocence.

Harvey sighed and said, "Does he know you know?"

She gave him a look. "Harvey, not even _you_ know everything that I know about you. I don't reveal my knowledge until the time is right. If it ever is."

Harvey considered that, decided it was... potentially creepy, but mostly reassuring, and said, "Okay. We're never discussing it again, though, unless he's here and _he_ starts the conversation."

Donna nodded. "Of course," she said, perfectly serious. "Other than that... did you have fun at your sleepover? What color did you paint your nails? And Star Trek isn't exactly Friday the Thirteenth, but—"

Harvey glared at her and she laughed, but stopped teasing.

He picked up his plate and began eating and she let him for a few moments, then waited for him to take a big bite so his mouth was full and said, "I'm glad you were there for him, Harvey. I know it wasn't easy for you, being so emotionally repressed and all, but... I think it was good for both of you."

Harvey nearly choked, recovered, then watched her warily as he finished and swallowed. When he was done he said, "Thank you... I think."

She chuckled, finished her coffee, and stood. "And now it's back to the office. I don't actually have work to do, but there's always Louis to terrorize. I have to start laying the groundwork now if Norma's going to get her raise by August."

She headed for the kitchen to rinse and drop off her mug, "Plus I have to at least pretend to be there. My boss can be a real hard-ass," she said, tossing a wink over her shoulder.

Harvey rolled his eyes and shook his head, but he just kept eating.

She returned, jacket in hand, and bent to brush a kiss against his head. He let her because, well, she was Donna and maybe he needed a little comfort after last night too.

“You boys enjoy your day off. Don't work the entire time,” she said and left.

Harvey finished eating, thought about getting up... then set his plate aside, pulled the blanket back up, and rolled over to go back to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Harvey was awakened again by Mike tripping and falling and taking a lamp down with him.

Harvey half turned and scowled at his associate who was standing up and grinning sheepishly as he righted the lamp. “What are you doing?” he mumbled, then turned the rest of the way and sat up. He stifled a yawn with a clamped jaw, stretched, and stood up. A check of his mug said that, yes, the delicious coffee was gone and then he picked up the dishes and went to see if there was any more in the kitchen.

“Mike?” he said as he located a thermos with a note from Donna on it telling him that he should have given up on sleeping already, and maybe this would help. “Bless that woman, for she is beautiful and generous,” he murmured.

Mike appeared a moment later, looking... actually, pretty put together. Then Harvey's eyes narrowed.

“Is that a new suit? Since yesterday, I mean?”

Mike looked down, then back up. “Huh? Oh. Yeah. Donna brought it over.”

“You're not going to work.”

“Harvey,” Mike said in a tone dangerously close to whine. Harvey rolled his eyes. And Mike wondered why he and Donna kept using the puppy analogy.

“You want to go in that bad? Really?”

Mike looked away, fidgeting and playing with his tie. “Well... I mean... I always have before and... I have a meeting with Louis that I really shouldn't miss. It's important and he said—”

Harvey sighed. “Yeah, well, I'm not going in, but if you insist on working, I need your help so, therefore, you're not going in. You're definitely not going to have a meeting with Louis today. Whether you choose to work—with me—or actually take the day off is up to you.”

Mike didn't seem to be thrilled by this, if anything he looked even _less_ excited. “Oh... that is... Um...”

And Harvey might be a little slower before he'd had a shower and a second cup of coffee—and a good night's rest—but he wasn't a complete idiot before ten a.m.

“Mike.”

He waited until Mike looked at him, then said, “I don't think any less of you, given what I learned last night. Hell, if anything I'm even more impressed.” He took a drink of his coffee and waited while Mike processed that. “And in the future, I'd like to be notified if you have any more... problems.”

Mike's eyes shot up at that, his head following a moment later. “You... you want me to call you if I have another nightmare?”

Harvey shrugged. “Seems only fair since I rode your other emergency contact out of town on a rail. And I need you in tip-top shape at the office, so if that means I have to come be your human pillow once in a while so you can sleep...”

Harvey would wait to invite the kid to the gym to box with him. The assault had been a long time ago and—based on Harvey's swelling and blackening jaw—he wasn't totally helpless, but... Okay, Harvey could admit inside his own head that was more therapy for his own peace of mind than concern over Mike's ability to physically defend himself.

Mike chuckled, and he did seem honestly relieved. “So how many episodes of Star Trek did you end up watching?”

“Not nearly enough. Never enough. Now take off your jacket and shoes and get the Leighton file if you're going to work. You were saying something about the bank accounts before you passed out the first time.”

Mike shook his head, but did as ordered.

Harvey watched him go, wondered if there were any more dark secrets in the kid's past waiting to pop up at the most inconvenient of times, then deliberately cleared the thoughts out. No sense in borrowing trouble when they had such a surplus already.

He thought for a moment, then poured the rest of the thermos into a second mug and joined Mike on the couch, handing off the last of his precious coffee. Kid better be grateful.

Mike made a little bit of a face as he took a sip, but Harvey consciously decided he was was going to be gracious this morning and ignored that. Instead he looked at the file Mike was already going on and on about.

When the steady stream of talk died down to a trickle that then stopped, Harvey said, “Good job, kiddo.”

He hadn't done it intentionally, used the nickname he'd used last night, but a glance showed that Mike was flushed again—this time with pleasure—as he worked to sort one of the piles of paper he'd overturned last night.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Well it _is_ good work,” Harvey said. “I may not be generous with praise, but I never offer it unless it's deserved.”

“No, uh, I mean— Well, for that too, but...” Mike cleared his throat. “For last night.” His eyes darted between the stack of paper and Harvey's face. He winced. “And... And I'm sorry. For punching you. And... trying to kill you with a baseball bat.” He grimaced. “And denting your floor.”

Harvey grinned slowly in deference to his jaw, reached over, and ruffled Mike's hair, earning a glare much like his brother always used to give him when he did that.

Which was utterly ridiculous, because neither of them actually _styled_ their hair. They just sort of... smoothed down the spikes—or in some cases, gelled them up into place—and called it good. How much could he really mess it up when “mess it up” was the only step to styling it in the first place?

“You're welcome. And don't worry about the rest of it. My floor will survive and I used to play baseball and now I pay people to hit me at the gym. I'm used to it.” He rolled his shoulders and grimaced. “Though I wouldn't have guessed you have such a powerful swing. You're definitely going on the company team next March. Now back to work,” he said with a mock-stern-glare.

“Yes, sir,” Mike said and then did so.

Harvey leaned back, enjoyed his coffee, and decided that maybe caring wasn't so bad. When it was the exception.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got all kinds of distracted and forgot to post the update here. Oops! Thus, you get a second chapter today. Sadly, it's also the last one. But there is good news to be had in the end notes, so check them out after you're done reading the fic!

**Epilogue**

He stared out at the city for a long time, playing a little with the phone in his hand.

He needed to make the call. Not knowing was driving him nuts and his own research had come up woefully empty.

Donna could probably answer his questions, but, despite what she said, he wasn't one hundred percent sure she actually knew what had happened and he didn't want to be the one to share Mike's secret. He needed the kid to trust him and that would be a surefire way to ensure he never did again.

But calling... It risked a lot.

If Harvey did this—and he was under no illusions that it would come free—then he might very well be inviting trouble back into both his and Mike's lives. Literally.

And, though he hated the reason for them, he'd gotten used to the late night calls followed by a Star Trek marathon at either his or Mike's place—once he got Mike grounded in the present again anyway. He knew that making this phone call—making the offer that was a necessary part of the phone call—could end all that.

He was a substitute, he got that, and this could very well bring the person he was standing in for back into play.

But he needed to know.

He dialed, moved the phone to his ear, and waited.

“ _Hello?_ ”

“This is Harvey Specter.”

There was a curse and the sound of something dropping, the phone was fumbled, and then, “ _Uh, yes? I mean... I haven't talked to Mike since I left. I haven't even called him. I—_ ”

“Would you like to?”

Silence filled the line and then a wary, “ _You're not the kind of guy to do anything for free, so... What'll it cost me?_ ”

“Two things, but I'm pretty sure you'll think they're worth it.” He hoped so, anyway.

“ _I'm listening._ ” The tone was wary. Good. He was learning.

“First, you will agree to clean up your act and _not_ drag Mike into any more stupid messes. You'll stay firmly on this side of the law or I'll make sure that you're on the other side of the bars in a place far, far away from New York. Understood?”

There was a pause. “ _And the second thing?_ ”

“Did you kill him?”

“ _Did I— What? Kill... I haven't killed anyone! I'm not—_ ”

Harvey glanced over his shoulder to be sure Donna was still gone, then said, “The guy who raped Mike.”

Trevor fell silent again. “ _Hold on,_ ” he finally said.

There was the sound of movement, a door opening and closing and Trevor telling someone he'd be back in a minute.

“ _How do you know about that?_ ” he finally asked.

“Let's just say I have my sources and—”

“ _No. How do you know?_” That was promising. It almost sounded like the guy Mike had described that first night and mentioned since.

Harvey considered, then said, “Mike fell asleep at my place a few months ago when we were working late. He had a nightmare.”

“ _Shit._ ”

“It's happened a few times since then too. He's doing okay. He's even considering actual counseling. I just want to know if the man who hurt him is dead.”

A sigh, then a bitter, “ _No._ ”

Harvey wasn't sure if he was relieved or not to hear that.

“ _But I can tell you this: He won't ever fucking rape anyone ever again._ ” There was a beat and then, “ _Are you going to report me to the cops?_ ”

Harvey waited a moment, letting the relief—sans anything resembling guilt—flow through him. Then he said, “I'm giving you a second chance because of what you did for Mike. I'm assuming that the _friend_ he told me about is still inside you somewhere. Don't fuck this up.”

Then he ended the call and turned back to his desk. “Donna—” he said when he saw she'd returned.

“ _Mike's on his way now._ ”

“Send him in when he gets here,” Harvey said and sat down to work while he waited for Mike to bring him the Chalmers briefs.

 _  
**~fin~**   
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my least favorite part of a story: the end. It's been a wild and crazy ride and I have made SUCH a good friend out of it. I can't even explain how glad I am that phreakycat prompted this so I could write it. Truly, she is an awesome, awesome person. Thanks also go to GallowsHumor for her beta and flailing and all the lovely things she added to make this story better than it was. And to Lu, my Muse, my BFF, my picker-of-genres and demystifier-of-last-lines. Without her, this would have had a much crackier ending that would have ruined it all. (No lie, it mentioned Harvey plotting actual world conquest because I just could NOT think of the words.)
> 
> The good side to this unfortunate event is that I am writing a sequel at phreakycat's request and, though the return of school might slow it down a little, I'm so excited to write it that I fear more for my homework than I do leaving you guys hanging. I'll be crossposting the sequel here on AO3, so keep an eye out if you're interested.
> 
> Thanks for reading and I'll see all of you next time, I hope! ♥
> 
>  **Prompt:** Harvey and Mike are working late at Harvey's condo on a case, and Mike crashes on the couch/in the guest room for the night.
> 
> In the wee hours of the morning, Harvey is woken to the sound of terrified screaming. Understandably freaked-the-fuck-out, Harvey grabs his baseball bat and rushes to see what's happening.
> 
> He finds Mike, fast asleep and clearly in the grip of a terrifying nightmare. Mike is tangled in the sheets, sweating, hyperventilating in his sleep, maybe shouting, and he looks like he's trying to fight off an invisible attacker.
> 
> Harvey isn't sure what to do, but when Mike curls in on himself and whimpers like the world is ending Harvey can't stand it and he wakes him up. Mike is disoriented, scared, and doesn't recognize where he is or who Harvey is right away. Harvey has to talk him down. Once he's more calm, Harvey asks him what he was dreaming about.
> 
> Up to anon what he was dreaming about, but I'd really like it to be something traumatic from his past like abuse, non-con, assault, etc and not just reliving his parents' death (but if that's what sparks your muse go with it!).
> 
> Wants:  
> * Hyperventilating!Mike  
> * Harvey having to physically restrain Mike at some point while waking him up, and Mike totally losing it when he's restrained  
> * Trembling!Mike (teeth-chattering is bonus!)  
> * Mike clinging to Harvey's tee shirt so hard he stretches it/ruins it and his fingers cramp up so badly that Harvey has to help him uncurl them.  
> * Mike burying his face in Harvey's neck and crying  
> * Mike being unable at first to put into words what he was dreaming about, and Harvey having to coax it out of him by gently asking questions and guessing (i.e. "is it something that happened in your past?" "did someone hurt you?" etc)  
> * Harvey stroking Mike's hair and the back of his neck to calm him without realizing he's doing it  
> * Mike begging Harvey not to leave him (still a little out of it) and Harvey lying down with him and holding him until he falls back into an uneasy sleep  
> * Mike continuing to sleep restlessly (occasional twitches, whimpers, tensing up or clinging to Harvey in his sleep, etc) and Harvey staying up all night to soothe him whenever he starts to fall back into a nightmare  
> * Harvey calling out the following day for both of them, knowing they're in no shape to work  
> * Mike being embarrassed the next morning (because these things always feel more humiliating in the light of day when you're fully with it and not disoriented by panic)  
> * Harvey convincing Mike that he doesn't think less of him, convincing Mike to talk to him more about the dream/trauma  
> * Harvey making Mike promise to call him at any hour if he wakes up terrified, and finding more and more reasons to have Mike stay over so he can wake him if he has a nightmare  
> *First time only, please
> 
> Sorry for the super-angsty, long, overly detailed prompt folks. It's 3 am and I'm up after having a doozy of a nightmare (that, incidentally, made me jerk awake and totally irritate my surgical incision, just for an added fun bonus). Unfortunately, I don't have a Harvey or anyone at home right now to soothe me through a terrible technicolor reliving of personal non-con trauma, so I'm looking for fic-as-therapy so I can be comforted vicariously through Mike. :)


End file.
